


In Which Our Heroes Ride A Train

by Door



Series: Trains, Planes, and Boats [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Door/pseuds/Door
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place 4 months after the Fischer job.  </p><p>"You've spent the months since your graduation making a study in unpredictability, it seems."<br/>Ariadne shrugged.  "I'm just a girl on a train."</p><p>(Written in 2010, originally posted to ff.net.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun glinted off the gleaming brass fixtures as Ariadne lounged in her seat and lazily watched the world go by.  She toed off her shoes, folding her legs up on the seat and spreading a lap blanket haphazardly across them before reaching again for her sketchbook.  The compartment was laid out in a manner which she privately thought of as "Hogwarts Express-style" and it was all hers for the duration of the trip.  She had a sleeping compartment in another car, which seemed almost shamefully extravagant on a train of this quality, but it was an extravagance she was indulging in regardless.  Her fictional great-aunt Mathilde, who had been invented on the spot the first time a classmate inquired about her sudden reversal in fortune, would have approved, Ariadne decided.  Mathilde had, after all, been something of an eccentric.

Ariadne glanced down at her sketch, which had unconsciously morphed from that of the magnificent cathedral she'd toured in her last overnight stop to that of an elderly woman with a craggy face and sharp, clever eyes.  Grinning to herself, she added a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of the woman's nose.   _For shame, Aunt Mathilde_ , Ariadne mused,  _you should have known better than to venture out so often without a proper hat. Not with that pale French complexion._   The one upside that Ariadne had found to being largely without relations was having the luxury to invent them.  Great-aunt Mathilde was quickly becoming her favourite branch of the imaginary family tree, and not merely because she'd left her a small fortune in very real currency.

Ariadne glanced up from her sketch as the train lurched slightly, smoothly beginning its deceleration in preparation for arrival at the next station.  She set the book aside and stretched her arms out in front of her, wiggling her fingers slightly.

Following her return from Los Angeles four months previous, Ariadne had, for lack of any other ideas, thrown herself into her schoolwork.  The architecture degree no longer held the same significance that it had 6 years before, when she'd first started out on the quest which would eventually take her from a foster home in a tiny town in Maine to a prestigious French university, but after the years and literal blood, sweat, and tears she had devoted to the dream, she figured she ought to at least finish the thing.  She assumed a return to shared dreaming was somewhere in her future, but since she currently had the youth and funds to take her time and consider her options, she was doing so.  Today, she was considering from the comfort of a fabulously appointed locomotive traveling around the French countryside.  It wasn't a bad way to spend a summer, all things considered.

The train had come to a full stop.  Ariadne glanced out her window at the name of the station, and then fished the well-worn guidebook out of the messenger bag at her feet.  Turning to the relevant section, she idly flipped pages.  She'd made a general sketch of her proposed journey before embarking on it, and had a good idea of what she wanted to see in any given area, but still found herself turning to the book whenever the train stopped.  Just on the off chance that something caught her eye.

By the time the conductor shouted his final warning and the train started up, Ariadne had long since stowed the book away again.  In another lifetime she would have disembarked and wandered a little, but this particular trek was about neither the journey nor the destination.  It was about taking time to relax and indulge in the occasional nap.  Which, she decided, was an excellent idea.

* * *

Ariadne wasn't the sort of person who came awake all at once.  She tended to wake up in stages, first her ears, then her nose, and then finally her eyes and the rest of her caught up.  So by the time she roused herself some two hours later, her brain had already registered that she was no longer on her own in the compartment.  But it had also informed her that there was nothing to fear from her unexpected companion.  Scent is the strongest of the sense memories, she knew, and she rather thought it would be a good many years before she forgot the sandalwood scent of his cologne.  She slowly rolled her shoulders around the crick in her neck and felt a smile creep across her face despite herself.  "Hello, Arthur."

The paper in his hands crinkled softly as he folded it.  "Hello, Ariadne. Sleep well?"

"Mmmmm," she responded, sitting up and rubbing a hand over her neck absent-mindedly.  She turned her head to get a better look at the paper.  " _La Monde._  I'm impressed."

"I do what I can."  The paper was folded neatly and placed on the seat next to him, and Ariadne found herself the focus of that particular intense gaze.  "I like your train."

"I like your waistcoat."  It was not the response he was expecting, and he glanced down at himself reflectively.  Ariadne turned to gaze out the window at the darkening sky.  "So you found me, I guess."

"Were you trying to hide?"

Ariadne smiled again, slowly, still watching the sky.  "No. Did I provide you with a challenge, anyway?"

Arthur's smile in response was also slow, almost reluctant.  "You did, at that. You've spent the months since your graduation making a study in unpredictability, it seems."

Ariadne shrugged.  "I'm just a girl on a train."  She turned away from the window and found his eyes still on her.  "Are you hungry?"

He was.  They made their way to the dining car.  Ariadne consented to let Arthur order for them both, an action she would never have considered taking with anyone else, but this was Arthur.  He was the man with all the information, and Ariadne rather thought he'd choose well.  As the waiter poured what she knew would be a dry, crisp white wine into their respective glasses, Ariadne pulled her bishop out of her pocket, placed it on the table, and then very gently toppled it.  The waiter glanced at her, but knew better than to comment on the often odd behavior of passengers.  Being cooped up on a train for days could do strange things to people.

But Ariadne wasn't feeling cooped up.  She was feeling rather free, in fact.  She smiled into her glass as she sipped the wine and listened to Arthur complete their order in near perfect French.  He was, as always, a puzzle.  She wasn't usually one to leave a puzzle unsolved, a questioned unasked, or a rock unturned, but found she rather liked Arthur mysterious.  He was a maze she enjoyed for the sake of his twists and turns, not despite them.  His voice startled her out of her musings, and she realized he was speaking to her.

"I'm sorry, my mind was wandering. Come again?"

His expression remained unchanged.  "It must have taken some searching to find a train this beautiful."

She considered him.  "Would you believe I walked into  _Gare de Lyon_  and found it waiting there?"

"No."

She laughed.  "You're right, of course.  You're also not the only person who can do a little research.  Grad school was good for that, at the very least."

"You've finished your degree, then."

"Thesis finished, presented, and well-received, if Professor Miles can be believed.  But I imagine you already knew that."

He felt himself grinning.  "What makes you think I'd ask you something I already knew the answer to?"

His grin did odd, leapy things to her insides, but Ariadne sipped her wine and pushed past it.  She was making assumptions that only a month ago had seemed unbelievably out of the realm of possibility.  Still, she considered, he was the one who had boarded this specific train at a tiny, rural station.  He was the one who had stolen a kiss in a dream in a distraction attempt which he had to have known would fail.

"I would never presume to provide an explanation for anything you do, Arthur."

"I'm not as complicated as all that."

"Are you not? You've been keeping tabs on me for purely academic purposes, then."

He sobered, and when he spoke it was at a slightly lowered volume, though they were still the only diners in the car.  "What we did, what  _you_  did, Ariadne, was something that most dreamers never do.  The majority of extractors go their whole careers without seeing a fraction of what you experienced, and you were a novice who shouldn't even have gone under to begin with."

Ariadne's smile was gone, her face unreadable.  "So you've just been making sure I haven't gone mad, is that it?"  Her voice was soft, that flat tone that was particular to her, but despite the lack of inflection or expression of any kind, Arthur abruptly became aware of the lie he was telling her, as well as those he'd been telling himself since the day Dom had marched her into their warehouse.

Dinner arrived on a shiny silver cart, forestalling any further conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The train Ariadne is on was inspired by/resembles this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ljQDJ4EILc


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had proved Ariadne right in ordering a delicious series of dishes.  The conversation over dinner had turned to more general topics, eventually becoming a thoroughly delightful discussion of poetry, of all things.  She was still reeling a little from that one. They lingered over coffee, then began the trek back to her train compartment.  Full darkness had descended, and Ariadne was moving slowly through the intervening cars, running her fingertips along the smooth, dark mahogany that paneled the passageways.  She really did love this train.

"I can see that," came Arthur's voice from behind her, and she realized that she'd spoken her thought aloud.  She jumped, then decided to go with it.

"Well, can you blame me?" she threw over her shoulder, grinning at him briefly.

There was a pause, inexplicably heavy.  "No," came his voice finally, and it seemed to Ariadne that it was deeper than usual, "It's beautiful."

His simple words suddenly seemed fraught with meaning, and Ariadne was turning them over in her head when the door just ahead of her in the passageway swung open, catching her fingertips in a hinge.

Arthur wasn't prepared for her to stop, and caught her shoulders reflexively to try and keep from slamming into her at full speed.  If he hadn't been standing so close, he probably wouldn't have heard her quick hiss of pain over the loud apologies coming from the gentleman behind the door.  Ariadne's slight build made it easy to glance down over her head.  Seeing that she was distracted by her hand, Arthur drew them both towards the inside wall and waved the still-apologizing older man on.  With a flurry of  _desolés_ , he continued on towards the dining car.  Arthur bent to take Ariadne's hand.

"Here, let me see it."  His voice was quiet, and Ariadne realized suddenly just how close he was to her.  She kept her head down, eyes focused on where her aching fingertips were gripped by her uninjured hand, but she couldn't escape him entirely.  He was so tall, so warm, and his proximity reminded her forcefully just how much she'd missed him.  His voice rumbled in his chest, and his breath still smelled faintly of the rich coffee they'd shared.

"It's fine, it's fine," she almost gasped, and spun out of his near-embrace to stumble down the length of the car.  She reached her compartment just ahead of him and whipped open the door with her good hand.  Her relief at returning to her safe haven was short-lived, however, as he reached the compartment in the next moment.  His shoulders easily filled the narrow doorway, something she could somehow tell even facing away from it.  Her mind searched desperately for a topic of conversation to distract herself from the sudden tension that pervaded the small compartment.  Her eyes landed on the blanket where it still was spread across the red velvet seats.  "It's getting late, you know. Do you have a place to spend the night? You got on at the last stop for the evening."

Her words came out so quickly; he had to struggle to distinguish one from the other.  "It's early yet. Ariadne, let me see your hand."  She started to protest again that it was fine, but he'd caught a glimpse of blood in the hallway.  He ignored her, and used his greater strength to simply turn her towards him.  "Just let me see it, Ari."

His use of the nickname startled her into looking up at him and gave him the opportunity to peel her hands apart.  As soon as the pressure from her uninjured hand was removed the sharp pain returned, and she made the same hiss of pain.  His earlier glance had been right; both the middle and ring fingers of her right hand were covered in blood.  Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he wrapped it tightly around the worst of the injury.

He noticed that her protestations that she was fine had fallen silent, and glanced at her face to discover that it was averted, and she was staring determinedly at a spot somewhere over his left shoulder.  "Hey."  Her gaze remained fixed.  "Hey, Ari."  When her name didn't work either, he reached up and gently touched her cheek, turning her face towards his until she met his gaze.  "You okay?"  She inhaled sharply, but nodded.  "I know it hurts like a son of a bitch, but just hold that on there.  I'm going to find a first aid kit. Okay?"  He waited for her nod, held her gaze for a moment more, than nodded in response and turned to go.

He closed the door behind him, and Ariadne finally looked back down at the fingers wrapped tightly in white.  He was right, it did hurt like a son of a bitch, but the only coherent thought in her head was  _The man carries a handkerchief._   And then,  _Of course he does._


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur's clear knowledge in the realm of field dressing probably should have sent up warning flags in Ariadne's mind, but instead, she realized as she considered her fingers where they sat on her lap cleaned and neatly wrapped in stark white gauze, it only made him more attractive.  She snorted at herself in disgust.  Jesus, but she had it bad.

The door to the compartment slid open.  Arthur returning from stowing the first aid kit wherever it was he'd found it.  Ariadne hadn't asked.  He stood momentarily in the doorway, then, when she refused to look up at him, returned to the seat opposite hers, where he'd settled upon first arriving and finding her asleep.

"I have some Advil for the pain, if you'd like," he offered.

She finally looked up at him, though her eyes seemed distant still.  "I've got some in my suitcase in the sleeper car. But thanks."  The awkward silence descended once again.

"Ah—I forgot to say earlier, but Dom sends his greetings.  He was pleased to hear about your graduation.  I think he even convinced Miles to give him a copy of your thesis."

An hour earlier, Ariadne would have laughed and inquired after Cobb and the kids.  But the free feeling was gone, and all she felt now was exhausted, oppressively so.  "Arthur, why are you here? Why were you keeping tabs on me?"

He started to give the same response he had earlier, but something in her eyes stopped him.  "Honestly?"

Now those eyes flashed, and he almost wanted to laugh.  "No, I want you to lie to me. Of course, honestly! I walked away from LAX honestly expecting that I'd never see any of you ever again.  I hoped that wouldn't be the case, that I'd someday get to work with you again, but no one gave me any sign that that wasn't a pipe dream on my part.  Now you turn up on a train in the middle of the French countryside, like a vision I conjured out of nothing, and I don't know what to say to you or how to act or—God _damn_ it, but my fingers hurt!"  She ended her unexpected tirade, and almost didn't hear his voice over her own exclamation of pain.  She looked up at him.  "Did you say something?"

Now it was Arthur who wouldn't meet Ariadne's eyes, and she thought suddenly that whatever he was going to say might be the most important thing anyone had ever said to her.

"I couldn't do it," his voice was no louder this time, but the compartment was utterly silent aside from the muffled sound of the chug-chugging of the train.

"Do what?"

"Walk away.  I  _tried_ , you know," now he looked up and his eyes pinned hers with their intensity.

"Tried to…walk away from me?"  He said nothing, which Ariadne took as an assent.  "Well, that's…encouraging."

"Ariadne, you deserve more than this.  Than me. I've been in the extraction business for so long, some days I can't remember if I'm a soldier or a con man, or a time before I was either."

"That's not true."

"What's not true?"

"Most of what you just said."

"I—" he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it.  "Could you be more specific?"

Ariadne smiled, and resisted the sudden, strong urge to take the small step necessary to cross from her side of the compartment to his.  "There is more to you than soldier or con man, though you certainly seem to perform both roles well.  There's more to how I feel about you than  _good enough_. The dreams have made you older than your years, I'm not denying that, but you're not  _dead_. Arthur, why were you keeping tabs on me?  And  _don't_  say you were worried about me."

"But I was."  The smile on his face was small and strained.  "I was worried about you. I meant what I said earlier.  The things you saw and experienced were enough to drive more experienced dreamers to the edge.  I wanted to be sure that you weren't…" he trailed off.

"Bonkers?  Gonzo?  A few cards short of a full deck?"

He smiled.  "I wanted to be sure you were okay.  That's all it was.  At first."

She felt her breath stop in her chest.  "At first?"

"I went to Paris, you know."

Confused by the sudden turn in the conversation, Ariadne shook her head.  "You did?"

He nodded.  "About a month after the job.  Fischer had made his announcement; Dom was back with his children, everyone had returned safely from whence they came.  I didn't feel like checking into yet another anonymous hotel.  So I went to Paris."

"What did you do?"

"Climbed the Eiffel Tower, toured the Louvre.  Ate macarons.  Sat in on one of your classes."

"You—what?"

He nodded again.  "Miles saw me.  I thought he might mention it to you.  I half expected to get a call from Dom, as he was the only one who knew how to get in touch with me.  I suppose Miles didn't say anything?"

"I—no.  No, he didn't.  But he wasn't crazy about the idea of me returning to that world.  He was thrilled that I decided to finish my degree.  Why didn't  _you_  say anything to me?"

"Finishing your degree was the right thing to do.  You didn't need me waltzing in and distracting you."

The idea of Arthur "waltzing" anywhere made her want to laugh, but she held it in.  "I would have liked to have seen you.  I would have enjoyed playing tourist with you."

"I would have liked that, too.  It's why I left."

Now she did laugh, though it was in exasperation.  "Jesus, Arthur.  Are you not allowed to enjoy yourself?  Is that one of the stipulations of becoming an extractor?  One must renounce fun?"

He said nothing, but continued to gaze at her.  She nodded to herself, coming to a decision, and took the step required to cross the little compartment.  Her intention was to sit next to him, but she startled them both by settling on his lap instead.  His hands came up in reaction, one settling on her hip, the other on her knees.  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into an impromptu embrace.  His eyes drifted shut, and his right hand tightened on her knees as he buried his face in the citrus scent of her hair.  They sat there and breathed each other in for a minute, then two, then more, as the time dragged out.  Neither had any desire to move.

"Arthur," she murmured.  He mumbled an unintelligible response and tightened his hold on her waist.  "Arthur, take a train ride with me."  She pulled back slightly, enough so she could see his eyes.  He opened them.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know.  I am taking this train all the way to Marseilles.  Do you know what happens when it gets to Marseilles?"  He shook his head.  " _Neither do I._   But it's a beautiful train, and a beautiful country.  I have two compartments, anyway.  You could stretch out in here or bunk with me in the sleeper.  I promise not to compromise your virtue."

One side of his mouth quirked up in a sort of half-smile that Ariadne found irresistibly attractive.  "I don't think I'd mind being compromised."

Her breath came up short at the promise in his eyes, but she swallowed hard, determined to finish.  "Ride this train with me, Arthur.  I don't know how things will turn out with us, but I know how I feel about you, and how you make me feel.  Will you give it a chance?  Is that something you could want?"

His mouth on hers stopped her stream of words.  At first it was the same sort of soft, chaste kiss he'd laid on her in Fischer's dream, but in the time it took Ariadne to register the kiss at all, he'd changed the tenor of it to something entirely different.  The hand on her waist slid up her back until it was tangled in her hair, and she realized that she was gripping his bicep with her good hand and resting the bandaged one on his chest.  She could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath her aching fingertips as he slanted his mouth over hers with greater intensity.  He pulled away so they could both get a gasp of air and returned his mouth to hers with a groan, " _God,_ yes."

"What?" she panted, having lost the trail of the conversation entirely in the onslaught of kisses.

"Yes, I want to go with you.  It's why I couldn't stay away.  You make me want things I haven't thought about in ages, things I'd forgotten I  _could_  want.  You're good for me, Ariadne."  He raised the hand that had been on her lap to her face and gently pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

She smiled, "Good," and started to lean in for more of his drugging kisses when his words stopped her.

"One thing."

"Mmmmmm" was all the response she could muster.

"I'm not very good at spontaneous."

"That's alright."

"Another thing."  His mouth had somehow found the spot on her neck that made her want to jump out of her skin.

"Yes?"

He pulled back to meet her eyes.  "I really don't have any virtue to speak of."

She took the hand that still rested on her cheek and dragged it down to press against her chest, so he could feel her racing heart the way she could feel his.  "Well, then.  All the easier to compromise."

The look in his eyes gave her the distinct impression that he was getting ready to ignite them both.  "How are your fingers feeling?"

"What?"  She'd completely forgotten about them.  Remembering, she wiggled them in their bandage where they rested against his sternum.  His eyes closed in reaction and she rather felt like crowing.  "Pretty good, actually."

"This is your last chance to change your mind, Ariadne.  Once we get into that sleeper car, I don't…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

She leaned in to steal one last kiss before disentangling herself from his lap.  She reached down with one hand for her bag and opened the compartment door with the other.  She glanced back at him over her shoulder.  He was sitting very, very still.  The look in her eyes was sharp and clever and filled with promise.  "Just  _you_  change your mind."  And she was gone, off towards the rear of the train.  He silently counted to ten, then slowly rose to his feet.  Oh, she was good for him.


End file.
